is there anything as dangerous than being understood? all the more so, as there is no such thing. you are always misunderstood. you think you are not lonely but in actual fact you are even more lonely.

–

nothing has been created without loneliness. i have created a loneliness for myself which nobody can see. it is very difficult nowadays to be on your own, because there are clocks and watches. have you ever seen a saint with a watch? i have never been able to find any, not even among those patron saints of the watchmakers.

–

braque said to me once “deep down you’ve always loved classical beauty.” that is true. it was then, and still is. people don’t invent a new kind of beauty every year.

Some days I wish I could hide forever
and once I’m gone leave not a trace
of where I’d like to be.
Right now the tension’s ‘bout to snap—
lash at the ones holding it taught.
Some days, I’m so tired and weary and scared
I think things that I should not;
like running away.

Some days I wish I could disappear
leaving all the world behind me—
and go a place that’s better.
But what is better than now?
(Is later perhaps the grass that’s greener?)
Some days I want to reach out and touch and cry
for what I can see in the now;
such as cabbages and kings.

Out of my hand the pieces of your letter blew
Out into the dusk
I never read it
That how the song always goes
And it seems useless

The post it flew between us
The letters grew to thirteen pages long
The post faltered and faded away
The emails, the emails!
The talks full of happiness
The shine soon faded

But we knew we had something, back in the 2005’s
And the ink grew dimmer everyday
The ink, I hope stays bright!
I never know, but I kind of want to fight
For those letters in the post
The letters in the post

Now I think of you with fondness
Your name associated with the old days
Now I remember
How we used to joke about the guts spilled on the page
Why does it end like this all the time
Why does it end?
Why does it end

But we knew we had something back then
And the ink still grows dim
The ink probably won’t stay bright
I know the memories stay mine
Oh, those letters in the post